We Made History
by BlueSphinx
Summary: Death Eaters are attacking Hogwarts! Who has the chance to save them all? Who is the loser and who the winner? And who goes down in history?


"Draco Malfoy with dark curly hair — now that's a thought to keep me warm on long cold winter nights," Neville laughed suddenly. "Though it is almost spring already…" he added somewhat apologetically.

"How did you know that?" Millicent asked in bewilderment.

"Eee… I…" Neville turned as deep red in his face as they thought only the Weasleys were capable of. "I mean… I… Nothing."

"What?" the three girls asked in unison from across the table. All the three pairs of eyes, so different in colour, were staring at him. All of them, the blonde, the brunette, and the redhead were waiting anxiously for his explanation. It was extremely intimidating.

"Well, I…" he stuttered and fell silent again, failing in coming up with a quick explanation.

The three girls all exclaimed something, so that nothing could be understood. They all burst out laughing.

"What do you mean — dark and curly?" Ginny asked, this time managing to beat the others.

"I thought everyone knew he wore a substitute head; my father wrote an article about that," Luna added, her grey eyes losing again their uncharacteristic sparkling and turning back to the usual haziness. "What do you mean — almost spring?" she formulated her question.

"How can you know what happened at the Hufflepuff House?" Millicent supplied quickly, her large jaw disappearing behind the fluffy scarf she was wearing to hide the scars.

Neville had almost sunk under the table by that time, so that only his blazing forehead and frightened eyes were seen. "It was you," he said to Millicent in a low voice. "You told me."

Silence followed as Ginny turned around to stare at Millicent as intently as she had just stared at her fellow Gryffindor. Millicent still had her eyes locked with Neville, a wordless conversation being hold between them, or maybe they were just both lost in their own thoughts and had paid no notice to where their eyes were pointing.

"So it was you…" Millicent whispered suddenly in comprehension, blinking finally, and smiling to Neville.

"And… Milla… How did you and Malfoy end up in Hufflepuff common room?"

"It was the Faithfulness Trial of Voldemort," Luna said, not raising her gaze from the silver spoon she was clutching. "He had all his followers from Hogwarts drink Polyjuice Potion and take a place of a Hufflepuff for a week, and have the Hufflepuff act as them under the Imperius Curse and Polyjuice. I thought everyone knew about that," she concluded and threw the spoon over her shoulder. It hit the wall and fell to the floor, clattering. Luna smiled in satisfaction.

"So, how did you end up there?" Ginny repeated.

"It was during the attack at Hogwarts. I was in the group that Malfoy led…"

* * *

It was late July and the air was uncharacteristically moist for this season. She was watching the owl zoom in on her through the ornate window on the southern side of her office. She had seen him before — he was the personal owl of Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic. He had been trained to be the most punctual, meticulous owl in the whole world of wizardry. He was the first owl Scrimgeour demanded for himself when he became the minister. His name was Number One. The Minister always liked order in everything.

Number One perched himself on the outer sill of the window and politely knocked with its beak, though he most certainly saw her standing and observing him. He had the letter tied to his leg. She knew he would have it. And she didn't want to get that letter.

Nevertheless, she knew she had no other option. She released the hatch and the window creaked open. Number One flew in and sat on the perch which was accustomed to support a representative of a completely other species of bird. He stretched out his leg.

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_I regret to inform you that due to current events concerning the demise of the late professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the aforementioned institution shall be closed for business until further instructions. The former professors are to rid the premises until such time when the opening of the school shall be permitted._

_I am waiting for your confirmation of understanding and following the orders with the returning owl._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Rufus Scrimgeour,_

_Minister of Magic._

Number One was still on the perch as she finished reading the letter. He hadn't moved; the owl chips and water she had put ready while waiting for the arrival of the letter had not been touched. And she couldn't say she was surprised, not about the owl, not about the letter. She had known the decision to close the school would come; she had almost supported it herself before the meeting with the remaining nine Governors. Now she saw the wizened old faces of the previous Headmasters watching her. She read the letter out loud for them to hear.

Silence followed. After some time of quiet thought she heard one of them whispering to another. "Preposterous! To throw the teachers out like that!"

Her thought exactly.

Number One had still not moved a muscle. Now, meeting her eyes, he stretched out a leg, demanding the reply. She knew she had no other option, again, so she sat at the table and sank her quill into the pot of official emerald green ink. The words were hard to come; how could she consent to something that would leave her without a place to live!

After about ten minutes and a pile of parchment ruined with green splats in different size and quantity, she raised her eyes to the portraits. She saw Dumbledore shake his head slightly, Dippet on his right was doing the same, only much more fiercely. As if on cue the others joined in. She dipped her quill in the ink again and took a fresh piece of parchment; she knew what to write. She would never give in.

* * *

"I will not have you treat me like a baby not capable of making decisions for myself!" Ginny screamed at the top of her lungs and shot out of the carriage, slamming the door after her so that it almost broke the nose of Hermione, who had intended to follow her.

"Wait!" Harry cried and wrestled the door open again, paying no attention to Hermione who had almost had to press herself into Ron to clear the path for her anxious friend. "Ginny, you must understand…" he shouted, but to no avail. The redhead just turned on her heel and made her way straight towards the front doors, only to bounce into a thestral before she had managed to take five steps. By the time she regained balance, Harry had managed to tear the door open and block her way around the invisible animal.

"You say I don't understand!" she muttered in reply to him. "But do you know why I don't understand?" Her voice was growing with every word, tears were running down his considerably pale cheeks and her hands were shaking in subdued anger. "Because you don't tell me anything! You always say you need to protect me! Ever considered that I have a personality, too?" she fumed, her voice so loud now that Harry was afraid her eardrums would break.

"Ginny," Harry started softly, wondering in the back of his mind why Ron and Hermione weren't backing him up. He stretched out his hand to grab hold of Ginny's fragile shuddering shoulder, but the girl backed away, so that her wandering hand touched the silky skin of the thestral behind her.

"Get away from me before I hurt you!" Ginny screeched, and without any elaboration, fled through the crowd behind the invisible animal.

"Ginny!" Harry shouted and tried to follow her, but two firm hands crabbed him from behind.

"Let her go, I'll talk to her later," Hermione whispered urgently, her other hand trying to indicate to the crowd that the show was over.

"Yeah, mate," Ron supplied, muttering under his breath, "We cannot afford to lose you."

Harry let his muscles relax, and only when his friends sighed he understood how tense he had been. Luna and Neville were edging to his side, the looks on both faces showing sympathy in their own ways. The other students around them were already turning to go to their common rooms, and the depressing silence that had fallen with Ginny's departing was lifted from the scene. Harry knew that gossip spread like fire at Hogwarts, and that in less than half an hour every single student, portrait, and house elf in the castle would know about this row, but he couldn't care less.

"But you know I'm right," he said, partly to erect a response from his friends, partly to convince himself in this.

Hermione nodded reassuringly and tugged his hand to get him to move. Ron muttered something incomprehensible, which had become his habit in the recent months. Neville looked sadly at the thestral in front of them and nodded, giving Harry a hesitative half-smile. Only Luna moved firmly in front of him and fixed her hazy eyes on him.

"I think you're wrong," she said loudly, a look of defiance in her gaze. "I think Ginny does understand already. Maybe it's you who doesn't."

Hermione huffed at that. "Let's get in," she said. "We ought to be in our common rooms by now. And it's cold," she added as an afterthought.

Ron and Neville were already on their way up the stairs and Hermione made to follow them, still clutching Harry's arm. Walking up the stairs he looked back at the quiet thestral, and found its eyes following him. He was right, he thought, he had to be right. Ginny had bumped into the animal, she didn't see it. He had to protect her, so that it would never change.

The front doors closed behind them and the thestral was cut out of Harry's view. He was still deep in thought and let Hermione firmly led him up the marble stairs, when suddenly, again, Luna blocked his way.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and found the strange Ravenclaw staring straight into his eyes. There was unusual severity in her gaze which made Harry stop. "Maybe she wants to see," was all that Luna said before turning away and heading towards the West Tower.

All the Gryffindors stared after her.

"What was that about?" Ron asked from no one particular.

"Eee… I suppose… Harry, what was it all about?" asked Hermione, feeling obliged to reply even though she didn't know the answer.

"She's wrong," Harry said simply, still looking in the direction that Luna had disappeared. "You're wrong!" he shouted after her, then turned to his remaining friends. "She must be wrong, mustn't she?" he explained frantically, with a kind of twisted maniacal smile on his lips. "Nobody would want to see, would they? Did you?" he finished, snorting with empty laughter and walking towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Well, Hermione," Ron said, sharing a look with Neville. "He makes even less sense than you sometimes…"

After an awkward moment of silence Neville stated, "We should go after him, I think."

"Eee… Mmm… Yes, let's go," Ron said and sprinted off. "Harry, wait up!"

Ron caught up with Harry in another desolate corridor. Harry was standing quietly and staring at a picture of an abnormally large mansion. There was a forest or a park of some kind to one side of the house, and the scene was captured at early dawn with the cloudless sky dark grey on one side of the painting, and bright yellow with a glint of pink on the other. Suddenly a thestral flew up from the trees, took a circle around the mansion, and disappeared behind the edge of the painting.

"What should I do?" Harry asked his hesitating friend in a desperate voice, just as Hermione and Neville came panting around the corner. He sank down on the floor and looked up at Ron, helplessness reflecting in his eyes.

"Don't listen to her. She doesn't know either," Hermione quickly stated and made to grab Harry's hand again to heave him up. "It's long past curfew, we should not be here," she explained, with her eyes asking help from Ron and Neville.

Instead, Neville sank down on the floor as well, facing Harry. Ron made to do the same, but a quick glance at Hermione made him change his mind, embarrassment or awkwardness creeping up his cheeks and colouring his ears bright red. Hermione started to huff again, and muttered something incoherent.

"No, that's the problem. She's right," Harry finally said, cutting off Hermione's silent rant.

Neville glued his large round grey eyes on Harry and Ron said, "But you just said…"

"I know what I said. That's what I thought. But… look at that painting," he indicated to the picture he had been studying when Ron had come. "What do you see?"

Neville glanced at the painting quickly and then closed his eyes. Harry had the distinct feeling that he understood, that he had come to the same conclusion.

"What do you see, Hermione?" Harry asked again.

"The Bulstrode Manor, built in the end of 17th century, painted somewhere in the mid 18 century, if I remember correctly it was 1746, by one of the most celebrated wizard artists, Jeremy Smith, a famous descendant of the even more famous Helga Hufflepuff…"

"Thestrals!" Ron yelped suddenly, cutting Hermione off again. "I didn't know there were thestrals on this painting." He looked somewhat shaken.

"Exactly," Harry said. "Ever wondered how many people know that? And how many of them didn't know before the beginning of this school year? I think McGonagall shouldn't have opened Hogwarts. It was clear he would move to attack the school… And how many times have we been evacuated now? Eight?"

"Nine," Hermione corrected in a small voice, tears in her eyes.

"OK, nine. Nine times in seven months."

"But it's only natural she evacuates the school when the Order has information on a probable upcoming attack," Hermione insisted in a firm voice, tears still staining her cheeks.

"You know that," Harry argued, more firmly now. "And I know it. And Ron and Neville know it." The other boys turned away their eyes. "We know it, but Ginny and Luna and all the others, they don't."

He heaved himself up and looked at Hermione, expecting her to say something. But the girl looked so sad and worn and only managed to shrug her shoulders helplessly.

"We can't expect them to understand," Harry explained. A nearby torch flickered in silence. "We should be in our common room," he said, giving a hand to Neville and pulling him to his feet.

Their way to the Fat Lady was deserted and silent. Harry heard Ron and Hermione talk to each other in whisper somewhere behind him, and Neville's heavy steps on his left. He wondered how McGonagall had managed to convince everyone to head straight to their common rooms without explaining anything. He knew that at least he wouldn't go, wouldn't answer to all orders if he didn't know the background. Hermione had tried to explain that she thought it was the strained look in McGonagall's eyes that made everybody obey her, but Harry doubted that. After so many pointless evacuations they were bound to start thinking about the futility of those escapes, the sanity of their Headmistress. No attack had taken place yet, every time they had just been taken to a secluded corner of the country, and after a day or two spent locked up in a house too small to host that many people, brought back to Hogwarts.

Ron had said that in his opinion at least the Gryffindors followed Harry's lead, but that couldn't be true either. The four of them had spent most of the time away from school anyway, looking for the Horcruxes and, to their own utmost horror, finding them, destroying them. Though various rumours were flying through the castle nobody knew anything about their missions, nobody had dared ask anything. The only result of their leaving school for those long intervals was that Harry was no longer considered a leader by his housemates, he was more thought of as a distant hero who should rather be avoided, if you wanted to escape the war alive.

Neville had then proposed that everybody had read about the horrors of war in the "Prophet", but that theory wouldn't hold water either. In fact, there had been almost no news of war at all in the paper, and that might have well been due to the fact that, as the four of them very well knew, nothing significant had really happened for months. Maybe they have heard the teachers speak then, Neville had supplied, but even most of the teachers knew nothing.

And that had been the discussion which led to his row with Ginny. All their sentences had been so vague that Ginny was silently fuming before she had had a chance to open her mouth at all. She had asked Harry's opinion, no doubt in order to press out some information from him, but he had declined, saying he had nothing more to say on this subject. And then she had exploded.

Harry hadn't even noticed they had reached the portrait hole until he walked right into the Fat Lady.

"I'd rather you let me open up first," the Fat Lady scolded.

"Red and gold," Hermione said quickly the password, and the portrait swung aside.

A myriad of voices filled the corridor in a moment, as a huge argument was probably going on in the common room. Harry gave his friends a questioning look and boldly climbed in, the others following.

All talk died down momentarily and all eyes shot at Harry. He stopped mid-step and looked around. Everyone seemed to have gathered to the common room, some wearing the Muggle clothes they had been travelling in, some in Hogwarts uniforms, some even in their pyjamas.

"Oh, Merlin," he heard Ron mutter, accompanied by a little shriek of Hermione's and some shuffling of feet from Neville. He followed their gaze and found McGonagall standing in the middle of the Gryffindors, her lips forming a line as thin as he hadn't seen since Dumbledore's death.

"Where were you?" she shot, eyes gleaming with fury, worry, and care.

Harry turned to Hermione for help, but before she could even open her mouth to formulate some kind of an answer, McGonagall had walked to them with a couple of long strides, taken hold of Neville's and Hermione's arms, and said, "Come with me, you four. I need to talk to you."

"I want to know what's going on!" someone shouted behind them, but McGonagall ushered them out of the portrait hole with no further comment.

"Professor, what's wrong?" Hermione asked as McGonagall climbed out of Gryffindor Tower after them. She just gave her a furious glance in answer, but Harry could see she was on the verge of tears.

"To my office," she simply said, looking angrily at the Fat Lady who, no doubt, was about to make some kind of comment on how long the foursome had been in the common room. She took off in such a fierce pace that the students had to run to keep up with her.

When they burst into the Headmistress' office all people in there shot up from their seats. Harry noticed that in addition to the four Heads of Houses there were half a dozen Order members there.

"Where have you been?" Lupin asked as soon as the door had closed behind them. But McGonagall ignored the question and turned her back to them all, walking to her table. For a moment it seemed to Harry he had seen a tear on her cheek and heard her sigh, but when she turned to face them again, she looked as grave and composed as ever.

"Harry, are you ready?" she asked simply.

Harry felt all blood drain from his brain. So this was it. Voldemort had managed to outsmart them. He would attack tonight, just as all the students had returned to the castle, everyone was tired from the train ride, angry with the professors for another pointless evacuation.

Harry felt someone grip his hand supportively. Was he ready? He didn't think so. Yes, they had found the Horcruxes and destroyed them. He had made decisions he never thought himself capable of making, visited places he never believed he would see. He had learnt things he never wanted to know, he had faced horrors he never knew existed. He had found help and condolence in his friends and in strangers, he had long ago accepted his fate, but now, looking at the seemingly sleeping portrait of professor Dumbledore, he knew he was not ready. Nobody could ever be ready for what was asked of him.

"Good," he heard McGonagall's voice as if from another realm. Understanding and acceptance crept on his face as he swallowed down the tears he would have liked to shed. Hermione had let go of his hand and was now pressing herself into Ron who had his arms around her.

"I assign the three of you to inform all the students and forbid them to leave their common rooms. The passwords," she gave Hermione a slip of parchment. "Harry, you stay with the others in the entrance hall. I believe you all remember the plan we put down before the start of the school year. Hagrid, the rest of the Order should be waiting at the gates." Her tone was final and everybody turned to leave in hurry.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were the ones closest to the door and therefore first to get out. As soon as the gargoyle jumped away, a frightened first year ran into them, screaming.

"Help!" he screamed, tears staining his face. "Malfoy… Death Eaters… Hufflepuff…" he managed to utter while he struggled to regain balance.

Harry, being the one the boy had bumped into, was the only one to hear. "Malfoy!" he shouted vengefully and ran away towards the kitchens where he knew the Hufflepuff common room to be.

"No! Don't! The plan!" Hermione screamed as Ron and Neville shot past her after Harry. Without any further doubt she broke into run as well, only hearing McGonagall's "Mr Bulstrode, tell me what has happened" before she turned around the corner.

* * *

Hermione caught up with Neville just as he was slumbering down the marble stairs to the Entrance Hall.

"Where are you going?" she panted.

"I don't know, but Ron went that way," Neville only managed to answer, noticing Ron's red hair disappearing down the stairs that led to the kitchens. Hermione sprinted off after him and Neville did his best to quicken his pace as well.

He ran over a corner and saw the other three standing in the corridor and arguing with a suit of armour.

"I can't let you in if you don't tell me the password," the suit said in a rusty voice.

"I don't believe you lost it!" Harry shouted at Hermione, his face read and hands clenched.

"It's not my fault; you should not have run off like that! Next time try it yourself to run and hold onto a silly piece of parchment!" Hermione shouted back at him.

"Shut up, both of you," Ron interfered. "Let's think! Hermione, you read it in McGonagall's office?"

"Yes," she said, somewhat calmer now.

"What happened?" Neville asked as he reached them, panting, and leaned on the suit of armour.

"Hermione managed to lose the parchment with the passwords!" Harry accused.

"I think it had something to do with the Horcruxes," Hermione said, grabbed hold of her head with both hands, and started walking in circles around the others.

"Good one, Hermione!" Harry spat sarcastically. "I'm sure everyone in Hufflepuff knows about the Horcruxes. I really…"

"Shut up!" Ron shot at him, cutting him off. "Let her think!"

"Piece of soul," Neville tried, looking straight at the suit of armour. It didn't move. "Murder. _Avada Kedavra_. Severed soul. Act of evil." Neville shrugged in defeat.

"Lord Voldemort," Harry took over from Neville, shouting out random words that he remembered thinking of Horcruxes. "Nagini. Soul pieces. No, you said that already…"

"No, it was something different," Hermione muttered. "Something… something… I know! Golden cup!" she shouted out, eyes sparkling victoriously. Neville noticed Harry roll his eyes and heard him mutter something about Quiddich.

The suit of armour smiled and jumped to the side, revealing an opening to the common room.

Shrieking filled the air, cries of pain and horror coming out through the now open door. The four of them ran in vigorously, wands drawn.

Neville hadn't expected to see what he saw. The common room was in uproar, people were running everywhere, younger and older ones, everybody shouting at the top of their lungs. And curses were flying around; shot at random by the panicking Hufflepuffs they usually missed their target or hit someone else instead. There were about a dozen Death Eaters in the room, all students, he thought by their seeming hesitation and rather harmless attacking. He knew that if nobody stepped out against them their attack would become more savage, their curses darker. But it seemed that there was nobody in Hufflepuff to take that load on their shoulders.

"Ernie!" he heard Ron shout as he made his way towards the thickest bundle of fighting people, side by side with Hermione who was shooting a variety of non-verbal spells around her. "Get the younger ones out," he commanded, "and the rest of the DA, guard the entrance!"

Neville noted with glee that Ron had taken control of the situation as only a war general could, with everyone obeying him without any questions. Through the rainbow of curses flying around him he saw people grouping together, one pack to escort the younger ones out, another to guard the common room door, some to the doors of the dormitories, some to the windows. Shrieks had not died out, paintings and furniture still shattered every now and then, only now there was some order in their defence, and he knew that this in itself could tilt the balance of the outcome to their side.

He was fighting side by side with Harry against an extremely skilled Death Eater, one that feared not to use the Unforgivables, one whose reflexes were as quick as the lightning, whose unwavering intuition saved him numerous times from what curses they shot at him. Though there were two of them, they never managed to hit him with anything; instead the Death Eater had managed to lead them into a more or less secluded corner.

"_Impedimenta_!" Neville shouted, pointing his want at their common opponent, on the same time being shielded by Harry's protective charm. Their enemy only shrugged at that, reflecting it back at them so they had to dodge it. Neville shot up again and shot a stupefier at him, when, suddenly Harry screamed, caught his head between his hands, and sank on the floor.

The scream was almost drowned in all the commotion in the room, Neville thought he and their opponent were the only ones to notice. Fortunately it had caught the Death Eater's full attention, so Neville quickly aimed a strong banishment charm at him, making him fly through the room towards the dormitories. Before he had hit the floor, though, Neville had turned to Harry.

"Harry! Harry, are you all right?" he shouted worriedly, squinting down to him.

"The scar… He's here! Voldemort's here!" Harry panted. Neville noticed him scratching his scar with his nails, blood was trickling down his forehead. "I must… go…"

With that Harry heaved himself up, his face void of any colour, green eyes sparkling with a maniacal gleam and hands shaking, but iron determination written into every line of his face.

"Go! Run!" Neville heard himself cry after his friend. "Good luck!" He watched the jet black hair disappear into the display of colours. Clutching his wand firmly he ran raving into the fight, towards where he saw the commanding officer Ron sending out variety of hexes most people in the fight had probably never heard of.

He saw that the Death Eaters had almost been cornered and some inhuman happiness crept into his heart. _We'll win! We'll win! Kill them!_ he thought, joining a sturdy girl in her duel. Then all of a sudden he felt a wand being pointed at him.

"_Stupefy_!" he heard a voice call right behind him, and then everything went black.

Was it seconds, minutes, hours, or days after the battle, but Neville felt life slowly coming back to him. He felt his legs and arms tickling. Breathing was difficult, though, and he couldn't open his eyes; it seemed as if a pillow was pressed on his face. He couldn't hear anything, either, only a constant humming in his ears. Slowly but steadily the senses started to come back to him. He felt a cold breeze wash over his body, he understood that he was lying in a position that was absolutely inhuman, and that he had probably twisted an ankle or even broke a leg while being unconscious. He could feel the heaviness being raised from his lids, but was still too weary to open them. He could smell blood and sweat and vomit, and it made his heart pound heavily in his chest. And he could hear somebody groaning of pain, sending out sharp cries now and then, in the gaps between the cries muttering to themselves, raving.

Neville challenged all his strength to open his eyes and heave himself up on an elbow. The sight that opened to his weary gaze was almost enough to make him lose consciousness again. He was still in the Hufflepuff common room, but it had changed to something unrecognizable. The heavy wooden desks that had previously been set under the windows and edged the wall were mostly reduced to splinters. The fireplace in the far end of the quadrangular room had caved in, and some of the windows were open, the glass broken, swaying on their broken hinges. The chairs were thrown upside down and torn into pieces, and the paintings on the wall had big chunks of them shot out by the curses, or burnt off, the portraits having fortunately had enough wits to escape their frames.

But that couldn't be said about the other inhabitants of the room. On the floor, amongst the upturned tables, partly covered by the ruined chairs, and clinging to the broken windowsills there were lifeless bodies of students. The smell of blood had grown unbearable, students in black Hogwarts robes were laying side by side with their attackers, students in black Death Eater robes, all as cold and unmoving as the others. Ernie Macmillan, the original pattern on his pyjamas not visible under the crust of blood, had died throwing himself over the helpless body of a blonde first year girl. Neville groaned. Another funeral, another broken family. More people to drench their handkerchiefs in tears that they had to press out of them, for they would not come naturally any longer. More crying, more heart-splitting obituaries which in no way could capture the true feeling in their hearts, for there were no words for that. And there no longer was any feeling in their hearts. Looking around Neville saw hosts of others, amongst them a couple of Death Eaters. He dared not look under their masks; he didn't want to know who had been behind this massacre.

Neville turned his head and saw the eyes of Hannah Abbot. He remembered them full of laughter, a twinkle of mischief in the corner, but now they were staring into the emptiness, no emotion to clear their now shadowed brilliance, no soul behind the dull grey curtain. Blue circles of death had already began to form around them, there was nothing left for Neville to do; just sit and stare into the eternal void like Hannah.

Suddenly he heard a shriek of pain again and realised he wasn't alone. The sickly stench of fresh vomit overtook his senses. The sounds had come from behind a pile of rubble that in the past might have been a chatting corner for the Hufflepuffs. Neville challenged all his courage and strength as he heaved himself up from the ground and forced his legs to move to that corner. A window creaked desolately, and the unseen wounded started raving again.

Neville made his way carefully through the ruins of the common room and over his dead or unconscious classmates. He fought his way to the corner like a moth flies to the candle, not understanding what it was that so fiercely beckoned him nearer, knowing it would traumatize him, but still going. With unnatural strength and determination that he didn't know he had he pushed the remnants of an armchair off his way, and gasped in horror.

There, in a pool of blood and vomit, in the middle of shattered glass, splinters of wood, pieces of stone, and other random rubble, was the person, a young woman whose Death Eater robes had been reduced to rags, and whose strong muscular body had only been saved from being crushed to death by the falling stones of the fireplace by a straight-backed chair which had fallen over her and protected her. In spite of that uncountable wounds were running up and down her arms and neck, the shreds of cloth covering her were drenched in her blood. Neville heard her heavy rattling breath, and though a Death Eater's mask was still covering her face he knew that her mouth was moving all the time, that this was the only person besides him still alive or at least conscious in this room.

Carefully Neville squatted down and brushed the rubble off the woman. Death Eater or not, he thought, but the pain she was going through was so evident that Neville couldn't help but try to ease it for her. Death would claim everyone; it no longer mattered to Neville who was Death Eater and who not. He bowed lower to remove her mask, but yelped and almost broke her neck with a rash movement of hand when he saw that she was practically drowning in her own vomit. But she didn't even shriek, only continued to mutter incoherently and almost inaudibly.

Neville carefully took hold of the Death Eater's shoulders, and lifted her up to an almost sitting position, her back leaning on him. The woman only groaned slightly and continued to rant. Neville slowly removed her mask, and brushed the dark curls off her face. Again he almost let her fall as he recognized the face — Millicent Bulstrode. Her eyes were darting up and down the room, never focusing on anything for more than a moment, never actually seeing anything. And all the while she was talking; sometimes more slowly, sometimes more quickly; sometimes almost inaudibly, sometimes in shouts; the words and phrases she had heard, the sights she had seen, the curses she had cast, the thoughts she had thought. And all the while her breathing was a constant heavy rattle. Neville just sat and listened, stroking her head and smiling. Her eyes shot from one corner to another, until they finally found Neville's face and lingered there, not recognizing who it was holding her. The shattered window next to them creaked as a breeze brought distant shouts of victory to them.

* * *

The kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place remained silent as Neville finished.

"Thank you," Millicent whispered finally and wiped tears from her eyes. Neville looked distraught as he put his hands on Millicent's shoulders, trying to smile reassuringly. Luna was clutching her head in both hands and Ginny was pale white in her face.

They suddenly heard a choked sob from across the kitchen. Turning around, Ginny shot up from her seat and ran to her mother. Mrs Weasley was standing hunched in a corner, a fist pressed in her mouth, eyes wide in horror, shoulders shaking in her overlarge robe, a thin line of blood trickling down her arm from where she had bitten into her strained white fist.

Ginny flung her arms around her mother. "It's all over, mum. It's just plain history," she tried to comfort her, but Mrs Weasley's unhealthily thin body was shaking as tears that had been subdued for so long were streaming down her now wrinkled face.

"But you never said… I never knew what exactly happened there," she said in an accusing tone. Ginny turned her eyes at Neville who had been the one to tell them the full story. He was holding Millicent in his embrace now and as her scarf had fallen off her shoulders the horrifying scars on her neck and arms were revealed.

"I never knew either," Ginny replied silently and locked her gaze with Luna who for once seemed really shaken and hadn't found anything to comment on. "I didn't understand."

Mrs Weasley let out one more heart-felt sob, then shook off her daughter's arms, and put on a falsely confident face. "OK, then go and lay the table in the dining-room. Harry will bring Ron and Hermione here after the registration and I want everything to be perfect then. They might be back in less than an hour," she said, making her way to her pots and pans.

* * *

The door opened silently and two teenage boys crept in cautiously. They shot expectant glances at the professor, but as he seemed not to have noticed anything they closed the door behind them, and edged silently to the back of the classroom where a slender red-headed girl was saving them seats and treating them with her famous angry glares.

"And then the same night when everyone had returned to the castle the fight finally took place. By that time Lord Voldemort had recruited numerous Death Eaters from amongst the students…" professor Binns, their ghostly History of Magic professor droned on in his plain emotionless voice which seemed to have been cursed to make everyone who heard it fall asleep.

"You were late!" the girl hissed to her companions as they took their seats. "What were you doing?"

"We found a small Hufflepuff staring at that pointless painting of the big house in the Charms corridor. He looked really scared, but refused to tell us what had frightened him, so we assumed some Slytherins were involved and decided to walk him to his classroom. You should have seen his face! I don't know what they could have done to frighten him that much…" one of the boys explained.

"Shh!" the girl cut him off. "Would you ever at least try to listen to professor Binns!"

"But you asked for an explanation," the other boy argued as the girl huffed at him, grabbed her quill more firmly to her hand, and made it clear that she intended to take notes.

"The fiercest fight between the students took place in the Hufflepuff common room," the professor was currently saying. The rest of the class had already sunk to their usual slumber, some sleeping, some playing hangman, some just staring in front of them in glazed-over eyes. "The future celebrated Auror Ronald Bilius Weasley grouped the Light Forces together and devised a plan of defence while Harry James Potter left to face his destiny and battle the Dark Lord Voldemort once and for all…"

"Hey, Molly, the Weasley he mentioned might have been your ancestor of some sort," one boy said to his fiercely scribbling friend.

"Don't be ridiculous, Chris, Weasley is such a wide-spread name," Molly replied in a disapproving hiss.

"Yeah, that would be like saying I'm a descendant of that guy who duelled with that evil guy, whatever the name was. It's not like Potter is a rare name either," the other boy said, smirking.

"I get your drift. Wonder whether there were any Longbottoms in the wizarding world at that time, as well," Chris said to his friends.

"Will you, please, listen to the professor!" Molly hissed again, ears growing red in fury.

"But it's boring!" Chris complained. "It's just plain history."


End file.
